


I swear I'm not always falling to bits

by Dead_Fireflies375



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Queerplatonic relationship, Stitches, Temporary Character Death, asking your partner to kill you if you become a zombie, discussion about the blue veins/infection, discussion of dying, it also can be read as more of a romantic thing too, no beta we die like bertie, set in Japan Time Skip to Episode 182, so spoilers for that!, the inherent yearning of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_Fireflies375/pseuds/Dead_Fireflies375
Summary: Wilde needed someone he could count on killing him if he ever became infected. That inevitable point when encountering someone with blue veins wouldn't end with just a simple week in quarantine before jumping back into business as usual.He also needed Zolf Smith, but that was another matter entirely.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	I swear I'm not always falling to bits

**Author's Note:**

> y'all who were here for Zoscar round one might remember me saying that I wasn't caught up yet so I was doing a lot of guesswork and saying vague stuff because I actually had no idea what was going on in season 4 yet. Well, I have now been caught up for a few weeks so I can actually reference stuff that happens in the plot instead of just vaguing everything lol. 
> 
> so yes, here's Elliot tries to write a Zoscar fic 2: Electric Boogaloo 
> 
> title is from Deadlines (Hostile)- Car Seat Headrest

Wilde was finished with his quarantine. Again. There are those who have one encounter with the veins and they’re gone, part of the hivemind. But somehow he has managed to keep making it out unscathed. Well, unscathed in a sense, he supposed.

Once he finished washing up from a week in the cell, he immediately went back to his paperwork, trying to catch up on everything he missed while he was stuck down there. The others had made themselves scarce in the meantime, the typical procedure for when someone gets out of quarantine to give them their space to readjust. It still doesn’t feel normal yet, this whole ordeal, but it was becoming routine.

He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching him, but he did hear it when the plate of food was set in front of him. Wilde didn’t need to look up to know who was giving him the general disapproving stare in front of his desk.

“You know, if you took more than ten minutes off for a break, the world won’t collapse,” Zolf grumbled at him.

“Pretty sure I’ve taken a week off,” Wilde shot back, continuing to work.

“You know what I mean.”

Wilde sighed deeply before leaning back in his chair to look up at Zolf properly for the first time in a week without bars between them.

“What do you suggest I do then?”

“Could try eating a proper meal for a start. Know you haven’t done that in a long while.”

Wilde looked down at the meal in front of him. It looked like someone who was used to cooking European dishes tried to make a Japanese one. It didn’t take much on his part to imagine the fight Zolf must have had with the tavern owner to be able to cook that for him. One more look at Zolf was all he needed to know that the dwarf had no intention of leaving until he saw Wilde eat. At a lighter time, he would have taken the opportunity to tease Zolf, drawing it out to get a reaction out of him. But he was just so tired and didn’t have it in him to fight. So he ate.

It was good. Of course, it was good, it was Zolf’s. Everything he did seemed to be good. Wilde was convinced that Zolf’s only flaw was his belief that he actually had them. Zolf seemed to be satisfied to see Wilde start eating, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he chose to lean against the desk, back facing Wilde. They had spent enough time together that Wilde knew Zolf had a deeper reason for being here than just giving him food.

“I’m-” Zolf started before cutting himself off and said, “S’good you’re back up here with us, Wilde. It's not the same without you.”

“Yes. Despite all of your talents as a team, Mr. Smith, your skills in bureaucracy are severely lacking. There’s a lot to catch myself up on to ensure we can remain on track with the current state of affairs.”

“That-,” Zolf sighed, “that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Wilde did know it. The unspoken arrangement between them communicated via vague statements and gestures. If Wilde wasn’t so goddamn tired, he would have spent hours reading into every moment, chasing that thing that exists until it was something real and tangible and not something he could convince himself only existed inside of his head during long lonely nights of quarantine. But the Oscar Wilde who would have done that died a long time ago, long before this business of the infection started. So he let the words remain unspoken.

“Zolf,” Wilde began in a tone that made it clear he was steering the conversation towards business, “this luck is not going to last forever.”

“Yeah,” Zolf grimly replied, “I figured as much. Even with my,” Zolf made a vague gesture around him, “hope, thing? I still know that things aren’t going to keep working out like this for us.”

“We need better contingency planning. Something more concrete than ‘if one of you is infected, we’ll kill you before you can spread it’.”

“What are you suggesting then?”

“Zolf, if- when I get infected,” Zolf made a disapproving noise at that but let him continue, “I want- I need you to be the one who kills me. Please.” Wilde almost let it slip in his voice, the overwhelming desperation and trust he had in the cleric in front of him. He hoped Zolf couldn’t hear how badly he needed this assurance.

There was a moment of silence that felt deafening to Wilde. He almost retracted his statement before Zolf spoke up.

“Yeah… I’ll do it.  _ If _ ,” he put extra emphasis on the if, turning to give Wilde a pointed look, “ _ If _ you become infected, I’ll be the one who, you know, kills you.”

Wilde felt the tension he didn’t realize he had been coiled with slowly dissolving at Zolf’s confirmation.

“Thank you, Zolf. If the infected maintain any element of themself, I can assure you the parts of me that remain the same will be more than willing to let you end me. I want you to do it soon as possible, at the first signs of the veins. Don’t-,” Wilde had to cut himself off before he let too much emotion seep through what should be a purely business conversation and composed himself, “Do it before I can do any damage.”

“Right,” Zolf replied, grimly, “I understand. I’d say to do the same for me, but, uh, well you know. Might not be that fair other way around.”

“Yes. Even at my full capacity, the scales are significantly tipped in your favor. Illusions were never particularly useful in one on one combat against an armed assailant, and I’m afraid without those I now have even less that I’m capable of. Barnes would be more suited for that task. I’ll arrange all the details properly in the morning with everyone.”

“I’ll agree to that if you finish your dinner and get some proper sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

Wilde gave him a weary look but the fierce determination behind Zolf’s eyes made it clear that this was nonnegotiable. Fine, he got what he wanted already. If having a concrete and functional contingency plan meant he had to have Zolf forcing him to take care of himself for one night, he could live with that.

Zolf stayed even after he finished eating, eventually choosing to go sit on the chair by the window, opening a Harrison Cambell novel that Wilde didn’t remember seeing in the room before. At one point in his work, he looked over to see Zolf illuminated by the moonlight, treating the pages of the novel with a level of tenderness that almost seemed comical, given the dwarf’s strength and ability. It would be good, Wilde thought to himself, to die by the hands of Zolf Smith.

  
  
  


The pain was horrible, much more than a slice across his cheek should be. But it wasn’t just a cut, was it? The right side of his face was aflame with such a burning hot pain he couldn’t conceal his pain if he tried. The only anchor he had to anything was the firm hand gripping the other side of his face, holding him in place as Zolf dutifully worked on cleaning his wound.

They were in the anti-magic cell. Wilde was collapsed against the wall, only being held upright by Zolf, who was having to particularly straddle him in order to get the job done. There were various medical supplies scattered about. Wilde forgot where those came from or how the two of them ended up down here. Everything had been such a blur.

“Zolf,” Wilde gasped, grimacing from the pain, “Zolf, you need to leave. I might be- he was-”

“If you’re infected, then I’m infected too at this point,” Zolf cut him off, voice stern as he continued to do his medical work, “Not gonna let you bleed out here alone.”

If Wilde’s mind had been any clearer, if he wasn’t near delirious with pain, he might have been able to put together a more coherent thought than the pained “Why?” that he gasped.

“You know why.”

Wilde wanted to scream that no, he didn’t know why. That Zolf Smith has always been a mystery to him from the moment they met in London and that whatever this is, whatever thing that’s going on here that they refuse to ever say outright, leaves him more confused than before. Why someone would want to stick with him like this. Why  _ Zolf _ would want to stick with him like this. But instead, he tries to muffle his scream of pain from the burn of the disinfectant making contact with the open wound.

“Come on, Oscar, stay with me, alright? I promised that I would be the one to kill you if the time came, not that fucker. So you’ve got to get through this,” Zolf said with intensity as he kept working. Wilde could see the blood on his hand. His blood, probably, but his memory was fuzzy enough that it could have been anyone’s really. There was an emotion he felt, seeing Zolf’s hands with what he thinks is his blood, looking at his face with such care and concentration as he tried to heal Wilde without being able to use magic on him. But for the love of the gods, Wilde couldn’t say what it was.

“I’ve cleaned it as best I can, but you’re going to need stitches, alright?”

Wilde couldn’t do much else but watch as Zolf ripped off a piece of leather from his jacket and grabbed the other necessary supplies for the stitches. 

“Look, this is going to hurt a lot more before it gets better, so bite down on this,” Zolf explained, putting the leather up to Wilde’s mouth, who let him put it in there without complaint, “I’m gonna try to make it go best I can, but there’s only so much I can do.”

The sharp pain of the needle had Wilde’s hands flying up to grip at Zolf’s forearms, leaving behind red crescent marks as his nails dug in. But if Zolf was phased by it, he didn’t show it.

“Glad the fucker is dead,” Zolf muttered, “Gonna kill anyone who tries to do this to you again.”

Wilde’s head throbbed with pain as he felt the stitches go in one after the other. His train of thought soon turned into just a constant stream of:  _ please, I need you, Zolf, I need you so much, please, please _ . If any of that ended up slipping out, he would be none the wiser.

  
  
  


Oscar Wilde was dead. He was dead and Zolf wasn’t the one who killed him. But he was the one here, offering to let him remain dead, so it was close enough in Wilde’s opinion.

He had never truly understood what Zolf was getting at, what his actual goal was for all of this. He was an elusive mystery and Wilde was tired. He was tired of having to hold everything together, of having to be the one responsible for everything, or not knowing what this unspoken thing is between the two of them. He hadn’t been ready to hear it when they were in Japan and hell, maybe he still wasn’t ready. But he was dead for gods’ sake. And maybe he wanted to be more sure about something for once instead of leaving everything vague and unsaid.

"Just give me a reason, other than because there’s something that needs doing. That’s all I need, just one reason other than ‘there is another job for you, Wilde.’ That’s all I’ll need."

“Fine. Because I need you, Wilde.”

It wasn’t an answer, not really. There was still so much left unsaid. But there was more of a thing to hold onto. The beginnings of something tangible that Wilde could at least grab onto when his mind tried to convince him that there was nothing, that it had all been something he contrived on his own.

“It’s just- it’s just useful to know I’m not just… beating my head against the wall for no reason, Zolf, you know?"

They needed each other, Wilde could work with that.

  
  
  
  


Things were different now. Wilde had been dead, now he wasn’t. The thing was less unspoken, whatever it was. There were other changes that came with resurrection, but Wilde was choosing to focus instead on the dwarf he had curled up next to in bed. Zolf’s hands were cupping his face, thumbs gently running over his cheekbones.

“You know, I think that white hair is the next new fashion statement. I was always ahead of the trends. I’m sure everyone will be sporting it soon.”

Zolf huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, well let the record show that I did it first.”

“Of course. You always were my greatest inspiration.”

Zolf traced over where Wilde’s scar used to be.

“S’bit weird, innit? Seeing you without the scar. Didn’t realize how used to seeing it I was.”

“It did make me look quite handsome, in a sort of dark and mysterious way. I’m going to have to make up for it with my alluring charm and wit.”

“Glad it’s gone. Every time I saw it, made me want to kill him all over again.”

“I apologize for causing you so much murderous rage upon seeing me.”

“That’s not-,” Zolf sighed, “It made me mad that someone hurt you. That I wasn’t able to protect you. That I couldn’t do more for you than what I managed.”

“I highly doubt anyone could do better.”

Zolf didn’t respond and Wilde knew it was because he was being overly critical of himself again. Attempting to convince himself that he somehow wasn’t enough. He moved his hands to grab at Zolf’s wrists, holding them in place against his face.

“I’m glad you were the one who came back for me. I don’t think I’d have come back if anyone else went.”

“I’m sure you’d-”

“Zolf. You said it yourself. I came back because you needed me. Not because Hamid needed me, or Azu, or Barnes, or Carter, or anyone else. And I need you too. You’re the reason I’m alive.”

Zolf let out a shaky breath.

“Well ain’t that ironic?” his voice trembled slightly, but his tone was light, “I was supposed to be the one who killed you if things went wrong.”

Wilde moved closer, burying his face into the crook of Zolf’s neck, allowing himself to just exist there with him and not have to think about anything else.

“Worried that when I fall asleep, you’ll be gone. That I’ll be out there in the snow without you again,” Zolf murmured.

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here with you.”

Wilde felt Zolf, for what was probably the first time in a long time, truly start to relax as they drifted off together.

  
  
  


Wilde froze on the spot. He knew Yerlik was related to the infection. The pull of the Garden itself was calling out to him, welcoming him to come closer. But all he could see was the veins. Logically, he knew it was fine, that this wasn’t an actual danger. But every fiber in his body reacted at the sight and was telling him to run. It was like he was back in Japan, sitting in the cell, staring at his arms, waiting for the veins to appear. The confirmation that he was gone, that he was lost. That they were going to kill him. That  _ Zolf _ was going to kill him. 

“Hey,” a voice tried to drag him out of his thoughts. He felt a hand curl around his arm. “You alright?”

He looked to his side to see a very concerned Zolf looking up at him. Zolf Smith, the cleric who threatened to murder him at their first meeting. The same cleric who continuously dumped water on his head in Paris. The one who then defended him against all of La Gourmand when escaping Paris despite being unarmed and defenseless. The one who he recruited to work with him when everything went wrong. The one with who he spent all those nights in Japan, living in the quiet companionship of an unspoken bond. The one who promised to kill him when the time comes. The one who gave him his reason to live in the meantime.

His hand found his way down to Zolf’s and he intertwined their fingers together.

“I’m alright now. We got this.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all enjoyed that!!!! I love this funky little duo with all my heart and I stg if Alex causes bad things to happen to them in 183 I will cry SO hard
> 
> Anyways tumblr is @chaotic-bi-incarnate and ig is @elliot_475. feel free to yell at me about stuff
> 
> sending y'all all the good vibes for the rest of 2021


End file.
